


Beating Heart

by MindfulWrath



Series: Early Days Yet [1]
Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, bleeding heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 06:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: The night before the events of the "Bleeding Heart" prequel comic, Jekyll and Lanyon have a moment.





	Beating Heart

"Do you think plants have souls?"

Robert pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose and blinked a couple of times. It was dark, so he could make all the faces he liked as long as he wasn't noisy about it.

"Henry," he explained patiently, "it is two o'clock in the morning."

"I know," said Henry. "But do you think they do? There are some that respond to stimuli, much as animals do, and—"

"And it's two o'clock in the morning," Robert interrupted. "Go to _sleep,_ Henry."

"It's _only_ two o'clock in the morning," Henry said. "I get all my best ideas at night. Don't you?"

"No, generally I get all my best sleep at night," said Robert.

"You do?" said Henry, sounding genuinely perplexed.

"You _don't?"_

"No, that's when I have my ideas."

"Then when do you sleep?"

"Oh, whenever," Henry said, offhanded. Robert propped himself up on his elbow and glared at Henry. He was lying on his back on the other bed, hands laced over his sternum, contemplating the ceiling of the cabin very seriously.

"You won't last two years at university if you keep that up," Robert warned.

"I do just _fine_ at university, thank you very much," Henry said, turning an insulted pout on him.

"Not for long, if you go on staying up all night having _ideas,"_ Robert said. "Go to sleep, you don't want to be worn out for the function tomorrow."

"Well, all right," Henry sighed. "When you put it like that."

Robert nodded, then settled back into bed. There was a long silence, fifteen or twenty minutes. Sleep started to steal up on him again, although he could hear Henry still fidgeting.

"It's just," Henry said. Robert groaned. "It's been proven that animals have got souls, and that they're rather useful in certain—"

"Henry, if you don't _shut up_ I am going to come over there and _smother_ you," Robert threatened.

"Sorry," said Henry, who sounded like he was fighting back laughter.

Robert took a slow breath and sighed it out. He wasn't sure what the fluttering tension in his chest was—anger, annoyance, something like that, perhaps amusement, because Henry's unfalteringly brilliant stupidity could be terribly endearing at times—but he was sure it was going to make it difficult to get back to sleep any time soon. Deep breathing was the key. If he focused on relaxing, on letting go of his thoughts, on the quiet darkness of the cabin. . . .

"I could think of at _least_ four—"

Robert leapt out of his bed and onto Henry's, bringing his pillow along with him. Henry yelped, throwing up his hands to defend himself. Robert mashed the pillow down over his head and Henry kicked and wriggled, laughing.

"You thought I wouldn't!" Robert hissed. "You thought I wouldn't do it, but ohhh, you underestimate me, sir!"

"Stop, stop!" Henry cried, muffled. He swatted at Robert's arms, and Robert sat back on his heels, folding his arms in a huff. Henry lifted the pillow off his own head and grinned up at him, one eye scrunched shut, hair mussed, face flushed, sparkling with delight.

Robert kissed him.

Henry's breath caught exquisitely, and everything about it was _right,_ the roughness of his stubble, the softness of his lips, the heat of his breath, and it was whole seconds before Robert realized what he was even doing.

He broke off, stammered apologies and frightened excuses queuing at his teeth, but Henry caught him by the back of the head and pulled him back in before any of them could get loose. That fluttering thing was back in Robert's chest, like a bird trying to get airborne. Gunpowder sparks were flashing off under his skin, blazing hottest and brightest where Henry's hands rested against his skin. He unfolded his legs, reclining on his elbow like a Roman, because his feet were going to sleep and it was hurting his knees. It was certainly not because he desperately needed to be touching as much of Henry as possible or he was going to _die._

Nonetheless, when Henry hooked his calf around Robert's leg and pulled him over to lie flush against him, it was certainly the most alive he'd ever been. Robert pushed a hand into Henry's hair, hanging on for dear life. His free hand found its fingers laced with Henry's, pressing his knuckles into the mattress.

Henry pulled back, gently, coming up for air. He touched his forehead to Robert's, and for a moment they both just lay there, breathing, soaking in each other's warmth.

"See?" Henry said, breathless, still laughing. "All the best ideas at night."

"For God's sake, Henry, shut up," Robert said, unable to stop grinning.

"If you insist," said Henry.

Robert kissed him again. It was never going to get old, not with Henry melting in his hands every time.

"I insist," said Robert.

"And we never speak of this again?"

"And we _never_ speak of this again."

"Good," said Henry. "Now that _that's_ sorted. . . ."

In the end, very little sleeping was accomplished at all.


End file.
